Fridge Magnets
by buildmeapyramid
Summary: Outtakes from my Jakeward fic "Magnetism", mostly from Edward's POV, but who knows? I might throw in a surprise or two. This won't make any sense unless you've read "Magnetism", so go do that before reading. M for Jake's sex noises and potty mouth.
1. Chapter 1

_Edward POV Chapter 5-6_

_Author: buildmeapyramid_

_Fandom: Twilight_

_Outtakes of "Magnetism" by buildmeapyramid_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I just own a severely abused copy of the book and a cranky laptop._

_A/N: Here it is, the first Edward POV. Enjoy!_

~oOo~

I can feel the heat of his body from across the room, warming me as I read aloud from the little book of poetry. My skin prickles and I can't help but cast a brief, furtive glance at him. He's sprawled across the lounge, one arm lifted to rest above his head, the other lying across his stomach where his shirt has ridden up to reveal a strip of taut bronzed skin. I stutter over the next verse as I try to tear my gaze away, and his eyes flutter for a moment before sliding shut once more.

I keep reading, determined not to wake him and risk him deciding to leave. The thought of him going home makes me anxious.

I suppose hours pass. I read verse after verse, poem after poem, until I reach the end of the book, and then I stand and head for the bookcase, but I forget how to move when I hear him sigh in his sleep from a few feet away. And when I give in and let my eyes rest on him, I can't look away. His skin is glowing in the lamplight, an the way his hair gleams black makes me itch to run my fingers through it. I bite my lip, and even though I know I shouldn't, I kneel down next to the couch and study him. The way his skin shines makes me want to kiss every inch of him starting with those full, parted lips, and the thought makes me want to retreat to the opposite side of the room and try to ignore him. But I can't, because he sighs again and his lips curve up a little. I sigh back, and my hand trembles as I reach out to brush away a strand of silken black hair from his face.

I know I'm imagining things when I feel him tremble back.

I touch his cheek very lightly, relishing the feel of his soft, warm skin against my fingertips and the words tumble from my lips before I can stop them: "You're so beautiful." I bite down on my lip—hard—and snap my hand away from him. I wasn't lying—he _is_ beautiful—but I never thought I'd have the courage to say it out loud.

His lashes flutter and I try not to panic as endless dark eyes meet mine. His expression is adorably confused for a moment as he studies me, completely unaware of the uneasy knots of desire forming in my stomach, before a light shimmers in his hooded eyes. I want to smile at him; I want to thread my fingers in his hair and kiss those dry, parted lips and keep him here forever.

Instead I ask, "You wanna just stay here tonight?" I can barely get the words out, my throat is so choked with longing. It's hard to breathe when he looks at me like this, dark eyes so soft and warm, melting me.

He hesitates for the smallest second, I can see it, and I can barely keep from sighing in relief when he nods and smiles at me before closing his eyes again.

I sit beside him for at least another hour before I dare to touch him again. His skin is so smooth, like russet silk under my fingers. He has scars, some of them barely visible, no more than tiny marks a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. But some of them are more obvious, and I wonder why I haven't noticed them before. There's one behind his right ear, a jagged slash that ends at the nape of his neck, curving like a scimitar. Another one begins on the sensitive inside flesh of his upper arm, but I can't tell how long it is because the mark disappears under his shirt-sleeve. My eyes scan lower, searching in horrified fascination for more scars, until I come to the strip of skin between his shirt and the waistline of his jeans. The thick white line on his hip is unmistakable. Unable to help myself, I brush my fingers across the scar, shivering at the feel of the raised, rough skin under my hand. I flinch but I can't look away. I push his shirt up, biting my lip when I see his muscled abdomen, before returning to the scar, tracing its length up his side. It's at least eight inches, but I can't tell how long it is because the other end dips into his jeans, and I've already crossed so many boundaries that the mere thought of slipping my hand underneath the denim has me trembling and flushing with uncomfortable heat. I trace the scar again, wondering how he got it but knowing I'll never pluck up the courage to ask. Then he'd ask how I knew, and how could I possibly explain to him what I'm doing right now? I should move away, I should climb into my bed and sleep away my desires.

But I can't.

Because when I brush my hand up his side again, he trembles. My eyes widen and flash up to his face to see sweat beading on his brow and a hand clutching at his hair. The lamplight makes his skin gleam so very temptingly that I can't help but reach up with my other hand and run my fingers across his jaw. He moans and I gasp, snatching my hands away.

"_If I ever catch you touching a man that way, I'll beat you within an inch of your life."_

Goodness, he's beautiful. His shirt is stretched taught and bunched up around his middle, and I can clearly see the way his muscles quiver and tense as he writhes on the lounge, mouth open as his gasps fill the room. I'm incredibly thankful that my parents' bedroom is on the other side of the house.

_ "It's a sin, Edward. A wicked sin."_

Shaking, I ignore the strange tightness in my chest, the way my body is responding causing me to flush with uncomfortable heat, and stand. My hands are trembling when I grab a blanket from my bed and walk stiffly back to his sleeping, sweating body and throw the blanket over him. I can hardly bear the urge to touch him again, but I resist and cross over to my dresser, tossing on some pajama pants and a T-shirt before crawling onto the bed. I don't cover myself—I'm already far too hot. Instead I curl into a ball on top of the sheets and stubbornly refuse to look at the boy making the positively sinful sounds of pleasure. I can't even begin to imagine what he's dreaming about. Who he's dreaming about.

_ "Don't even think those filthy thoughts, Edward. I'll know if you think them, and so will God."_

I swallow hard and stare up at the ceiling, too stiff to move to turn the light out. I press my legs together and curl my toes until they ache, but still my body pulses with his presence, with his sounds, and my skin is tingling as I fight against my desires. My heart is pounding like an Indian drum, and I don't know how to calm the beat. He groans, and my eyes fall to him without thought in time to see him lick his lips and arch his back, skin glistening like melting gold.

_ "It's unnatural, Edward. He's unnatural. Don't even say that boy's name ever again or I'll whip you until you're raw."_

My lips part and I clench my hands into the pillow on either side of my head, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. Memories of how his skin felt, satin smooth and rough at the same time, leave ghosts of past touches on my fingertips. He moans again, and I muffle my own cry of frustration into the pillow as I remember the way he trembled at my touch, the way his muscles bunched and arched and shuddered for me.

_ "Disgusting."_

_ "Dirty."_

_ "God will punish all those bad people."_

_ "Only sinners do nasty things like that. You don't want to be a sinner, do you, Edward?"_

He sighs and I sit up with a growl to see his head turned toward me. I can't touch him, I won't touch him. I refuse to. But I need to be closer. Just a bit closer—

I pull the sheets from my bed and lay them on the floor next to him, far enough away that he won't step on me when he gets up in the morning, but close enough that I can feel his warmth radiating from him, setting fire to my blood. I turn out the light and slip to the floor, listening to his quiet moans and ragged breaths as I forget the voices in my head and let my eyes slide shut.

_A/N: And the plot thickens . . . I hope you enjoyed this little peek into Edward's psyche as well as Chapter 6. After this, I'm pretty sure you can guess what Edward's feelings for Jake are, but obviously Jake's too thick to figure it out at the moment, but don't worry. In time . . ._

_Reviewers get imaginary recordings of Jake's sex noises! ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Magnetism Outtake**_

_Author: buildmeapyramid_

_Fandom: Twilight Saga_

_Rating: M_

_Pairing: Edward/Jacob_

_Disclaimer: SM owns it all. Damn her._

_A/N: Okay, I'm a bit . . . unsure about putting this up. I really like it and I wanted soooooo badly to be able to include it in the actual story, but it doesn't look like it's ever gonna be used, so I figured, why the hell not? This is sort of compensation for being so mean to y'all and making you wait for forever and a day for an update. I've got tons of stuff to do this month (the Big Bang, contests, The Twifestivals, Magnetism, and RL) so I want to make sure y'all know I'm still alive and kicking!_

_Oh, and it's really short. It was supposed to be a little scene where Edward tries to cook a meal to help Esme out, but, well . . . Edward's not a very good cook lol._

_Enjoy!_

~oOo~

I stuff a forkful into my mouth, and it takes everything in me and maybe a bit of divine intervention to keep from gagging and spewing chunks of soggy food all over the Cullens' spotless white-washed oak table. Edward is smiling at me still with his head crooked a little to the side, his hand cradling his cheek, and he looks so innocent, so hopeful, that I can't just leap to my feet and head for the nearest available bathroom to puke my guts out in. So instead I smile back—a bit tightly, I admit—and scoop up another bite, though I can't quite bring myself to eat it just yet; I'm still trying to find the courage to swallow the food already in my mouth.

"How is it?" he asks, his eyes shining with eager anticipation for my answer.

By sheer determination I chew and swallow, trying my best to ignore the taste—like sour milk married to a rotten egg—and reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster under the circumstances, "Delicious."

He beams at me like I've just told him he's destined to be the world's greatest culinary chef of all time. "I'm so relieved," he practically squeals, jumping up from his seat and nearly scaring the living shit out of me when he throws his arms around my shoulders.

We have an unspoken rule, Edward and I: We are not to touch any way, shape, or form. The last time we were skin-to-skin was when I decked him, and I quite honestly don't think that really counts. So I nearly do spit out my food, but this time for a reason entirely unrelated to the taste.

_Edward Cullen is hugging me._

It only lasts a millisecond; he apparently realizes what a grievous breach of boundaries he has made, and jolts away from me like I've electrocuted him. But for one all-too-brief moment, I can feel him against me—his cool breath against my neck, his lightly-muscled chest pressed against my shoulder, his arms warming me despite their own cold. I can feel the imprint of every inch of his skin against mine, scalding me with sensation, and when he moves away suddenly the only rational—or maybe not so rational—thought in my mind is, _More_.

~oOo~


	3. Chapter 3

_**Magnetism Outtake**_

_Author: buildmeapyramid_

_Fandom: Twilight Saga_

_Rating: M for some language and mature themes_

_Pairing: Edward/Jacob_

_Warnings: slash, dark(er) themes, a bit of language, violence_

_Disclaimer: SM owns the Twiverse. I just daydream. *grumbles*_

_Notes: Well, I have failed again. I meant to have Chapter 10 of Magnetism up by today, but instead I come to you with a Fandom 4 Storms outtake I wrote a little less than two months ago. I'm dreadfully sorry for the delay, but please know that I have no plans to abandon Magnetism; I'm just working on other things at the moment, and they're completely hogging my writing time. Anyway, I hope that this at least will tide you all over until I can get the next chapter finished and posted._

_This outtake takes place at the beginning of Chapter 9, when Edward and Alice are on their way to school. There's a lot of hinting and strange clues in here, so it might not make a whole lot of sense, but it'll hopefully give you a bit of insight into Edward's past. Oh, and a slight tissue warning, apparently. Danni got all choked up when she read it for me. *hugs*_

~oOo~

"You're crazy." Alice's quiet sigh makes me look up, and I frown in confusion as I absentmindedly tug a hand through my hair.

"What do you mean?" I ask quietly. But I think I already know.

"He's Jacob Black, Edward." Her midnight eyes meet mine before she looks back to the road. "The school's resident bullying, heartless, rude, _straight _asshole."

"But—he's— . . ."I fumble for words, even as I recognize the truth in her words. How can I possibly justify any feelings I have for the one person who, for all appearances, hates me? I bury my face in my hands and try not to jerk away when her cool hand touches my shoulder. She's only trying to help, I remind myself.

"Edward"—her voice is a sad murmur—"I know you didn't want me to say anything after that night, but I just-I just _can't _watch you pine after someone who'll never feel the same way."

"I know he'll never feel the same way." My words are muffled by my hands and I want to cry. "I _know _he won't. And even if he did—"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she says soothingly. Her voice is calm, rational, serene. She's always so composed, so put-in-place, always with a ready solution to make things easier. I'm almost envious of her. "Don't think about that. When you're ready, Edward. No one's pushing you into anything. I'm here, and Emmett's here, and we won't let anything happen to you." Her hand slides into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze as she adds, "I promise."

"I just—" I'm breathing too fast, and my body is trembling, and even though I know I should stop thinking and try to keep calm, doubts and fears and memories are choking me, and all I can do is _remember_.

Remember how angry he was when he found them together again. Remember the bruises blooming on Riley's face as he twisted out of my father's grasp and ran out the door. Remember the crash that dulled into deathly silence.

"I can't do it!" I gasp. "It's wrong. I can't—"

"Edward, calm down," she murmurs, but her voice is only a dull ring in my ears as the memories steal over me, reminding me how afraid I was. How afraid I still am.

_"Hey Eddie, I'll be back in a little while, okay?" Riley's voice in my ear, the crooked smile that doesn't reach his red-rimmed eyes. "Don't tell anyone that I'm gone."_

_ I fist my hands in his jacket, trying to hold on to him. "No, Rill, don't go!" I whimper, tears flooding my eyes. If Rill leaves, that means I'm alone with him. What if he gets angry? Or what if he thinks I've been bad?_

_ His hands wrap around mine, and he pushes me away gently. "Hey, don't worry, little man; I'll be back soon. I just-I just have to go see someone real quick." His eyes are watery as he smiles once more before slipping out the window, ignoring my pleas for him to stay._

_ I huddle in the corner of the room, beside Riley's bed, afraid to move lest he somehow hear me, figure out that Riley is gone. I don't even want to imagine how he'll punish me for letting Riley go._

"Edward!" The car has stopped. I can't breathe. I'm trapped. "Edward, listen to me! Calm down, you're fine, you're fine."

Soothing hands on my face, stroking my hair. Anxious, comforting words in my ear. "Shhh, Edward, it's alright, you're safe, you're here with me."

_A door slamming. A roaring voice. Shattering glass and a choked cry as the slap of a hand against flesh echoes through the silent house._

_ "You pervert!" His angry voice, shrill and furious. "You sick, twisted, evil bastard! I thought I'd made myself clear—"_

_ "What's so wrong about loving someone?" Riley. It's Riley. My heart pounds in my chest and I can't help the tears leaking from my eyes. Papa's going to punish him._

_ A resounding crash shakes the house. I sniffle and fight to keep my sobs quiet as I crawl toward the door. I'm scared. But I need to help Riley. I can't let Papa hurt him again._

_ "God says it's wrong, you disgusting queer!" Papa's voice is a roar that makes me shake with fear, and my courage almost fails me. I almost snatch my hand back, away from the doorknob. Almost. "I never thought you'd sink this low, boy, even with a mother like yours." I slip out of the room, into the hall._

_ "Don't you fucking dare—" I move on tiptoe toward the sound of their voices, biting my lip and trying to control my shivering, and I pause at the partially-open door. I can't see them yet. Just a few more inches—_

_ "Should've kept away from the whole lot of you. You're all sinners. You're all damned. I never should've dirtied my hands with your whore of a mother."_

_ My brother's wordless cry of rage. Another crash._

_ Silence._

"Edward, please, calm down," Alice pleads. Her voice is muffled, and so are my cries, and as I shake and tremble in the memories I can feel her tiny body against mine, her soothing embrace comforting me, warming me.

_"Come on, Eddie, let's go."_

_ "But—"_

_ "Now." Rill's voice is stern. Cold._

_ I look up, swallowing when I see the hardness in his eyes, before I drop my eyes back to my feet, suddenly afraid. He's never talked to me like that before._

_ "Hey." His voice softens, a tender coo as his hand strokes my matted hair. "Eddie, I'm sorry." He presses a soft kiss to my forehead and squeezes my shoulder. "It's okay. We'll be okay. We're going to find a new home. We're going to be happy, okay? Papa will never hurt you again, I promise." His smile is shaky, but he looks sort of wild, different, so I nod and don't say another word as he drags me past the body crumpled on the kitchen floor and out of that house forever._

"Riley," I gasp out again Alice's shoulder, and the word seems to bring release, seems to ease the pain stabbing through me, the burning in my lungs, so I say it again. And again. And again.

"Shhh, it's alright, Edward, it's okay." Her voice is sweet and clear, drawing me out of my memories, out of the past. "Don't think about it. It's over."

But it's not over.

I'm still afraid.


End file.
